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As my school is close to a Training College, we get groups of students sent to us for teaching practice. Last year, three of them were also helping me with a drama group I was running. They had stayed after a Friday night rehearsal to discuss our progress and as we were leaving the school at about 7 pm, they invited me to go for a drink with them. I protested that they did not really want an old teacher in their group, but they persisted and as I had nothing else to do that evening, I went along with them. I was still wearing my teaching 'uniform' of skirt and blouse, with a sweat-shirt to keep out the evening chill. They were far more casual, the girls in jeans or mini-skirts, the boys in jeans.
We met some more students in a rather run-down local pub and after three quick drinks, they decided to move on to somewhere better. Mike knew a much nicer pub in town and as there was a bus due in a few minutes, we quickly finished our drinks and hurried to the bus stop. I found that despite the age difference, I was fitting in with the group and enjoying myself, so I went along as well. With three halves of bitter inside me, I had to visit the loo before risking a bus ride.
It was ten minutes before the bus came, so we had not gone far when I wanted another wee and this need got rapidly worse. I was sitting down, so it was easy to tuck one leg up and sit on my foot, my heel pressing nicely against my crutch and making me much more comfortable. The bus went all round the houses, so it was going to be another 10 or 15 minutes before we got to the town. This was about as long as I thought I could wait, so I would be desperate by then. None of the other girls had been to the loo in the pub and I looked to see if any were showing any signs of desperation yet. Only Julie, wearing a tiny mini-skirt, had her legs loosely crossed, the rest seemed fine.
I reached desperation level even quicker than I feared and I was really struggling to contain myself, knowing that it might be another 10 minutes before we reached town. I assumed we would get out at the bus yard in the town centre and I knew there was a loo there, so I was steeling myself to hold until then. I was already working out where the bus would stop and the quickest way to the loos, checking that I had plenty of change in my pocket in case they had started charging. It was going to be a pretty frantic situation and I would have no time to lose when I got off my foot and had to control myself unaided.
We were only one or two stops away when Mike announced that we had to get off at the next stop and walk to the new pub. I had never bargained for this and I could see a real crisis developing. It was even worse than I had imagined, as when we got off the bus, we still had a five minute walk to the pub. I was absolutely frantic, trying to walk with my thighs pressed together and clenching my bladder shut with all my strength. I prayed there would be another pub, (or somewhere with a loo) on the way, but it was a well-lit residential road, with not even any bushes I could have squatted behind. Believe me, I would have gone behind a bush that night; I was so desperate I could think of nothing except getting to a loo.
Inevitably, I had not walked far when I felt myself losing control and a few drops leaked out into my panties. I made a super-human effort and stemmed the leak for a bit, but I was fighting a losing battle with my bladder. No matter how hard I tried to control myself, clenching my fists with the effort and walking almost on tip-toe, I could not stop a couple of much bigger leaks. My panties then felt very wet and I could feel the wee trickling down the inside of my legs. There was still no sign of the pub and I knew that I was not going to be able to make it without a major accident. If anything, the leaks so far had only made me want to go more intensely and I could not prevent a major squirt running all down my legs, soaking my tights almost to my ankles. There was nothing for it now, I was going to wet my panties in a big way and all I could do was try to minimise the damage. I was a bit drunk already and this was enough to make me decide that I could not bear to struggle for the rest of the way to the pub, but just keep letting squirts go until no more wanted to come out. I was so desperate that all I wanted to do was wee, and I really didn't care any more if I did it in my panties. I was still sober enough to try and keep to the grass verge or dark bit of pavement, but apart from that I just let out spurts of wee as I walked along. I still had some control over my bladder, so I was managing to space the leaks far enough apart that one spurt of wee had finished dripping down my legs before I let another go, and I was also trying to let it out slowly, so it soaked into my panties and ran down my legs, instead of coming out as a big spurt straight onto the ground.
I was just starting to feel comfortable, having let what felt like gallons run down my legs, when we reached the pub. Luckily the bars were dimly lit, which would hide any wet marks on my skirt or tights and it was crowded, so there was no risk of having to sit down wearing wet panties. Julie and I made straight for the loo, where I still did a surprising amount of wee and I then did the best I could to dry my panties and legs. I could hear the tremendous force that Julie's wee was hitting the water with, so she must have been close to bursting point as well. There didn't appear to be any wet marks on my skirt, and only the gusset part of my panties was really wet, as most of the wee had run straight down my legs. Selfishly, I used all the loo paper to get myself as dry as possible and I thought that so long as I didn't sit down, nobody would know what had happened.
I should have been absolutely disgusted with myself, wetting my panties in public like a baby and the sensible thing that a mature school-teacher should have done was have had one more drink and then got a taxi home and cleaned herself up. However, I had had enough to drink to be feeling irresponsible and I was enjoying myself, so I didn't do the sensible thing.
What happened later in the evening is another story. Nicola
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